


(robin)

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ...yay, AU, BAMF!Stiles, Character Death, Demons, F/M, Gen, Hurt!Stiles, M/M, Mind Games, Mutual Pining, OC, Other, Scared!Stiles, Sexual Tension, and bullets, and guns, and poison, and shit happens, and wolfsbane, and yeah, cuz he kind of has to, emotionally not ok!stiles, emotionally ok!derek, mentioned non con, mentioned sexual abuse, non mutual pining, oc who drinks a lot, ocs that are just mentioned, oh and everything works out!, oops not giving it away, pissed off!stiles, sort of demons, stiles goes missing, stiles kind of drinks a lot, there might be some serious angst, weird ladies who kidnap kids, weird ladies who kidnap kids and then take them to weird live with "Family", while possessing knifes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles disappears one night.</p><p>He returns ten years later, barely what he was before and nothing like he pretends to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“Don’t panic.”

Stiles doesn’t. He doesn’t panic even though he should. Even though this is clearly “so sketch” as Kelly in his math class would say. A beautiful lady walking – drifting, that’s drifting – through the woods, wearing flowing white silk like a scene from a King Arthur style romance novel? So sketch. He really should be panicking. But he’s not.

How could Stiles panic when he knows this woman. Her eyes and the subtle up turning of her mouth. The tilt of her shoulders. Yes, he knows her perhaps better than he knows himself.  
He recognizes that smile and the look in those eyes. Can see what will happen, what won't happen.

~☾☽~

And when she tells him to follow her, he does.

 


	2. And We're Getting Older Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are mine.

One year and it still seems that the world has crashed down around their ears.

Their Stiles gone, taken from them in the night, no body, no note, no calls or texts. No evidence that the boy had ever existed except for an empty seat in Chem, a pause not filled at Pack meetings.

The Pack searched - search for him still, long years since Beacon Hills has lost the boy.

Two more years pass, the emptiness still resonates in the Pack, even as new humans and wolves as integrated into their circle, making them stronger and closer and expanding their family. Stiles is never talked about, a heavy weight across the shoulders of the Pack.

Another two years pass, five years after went Stiles missing, and Scott has finished his Bachelor’s in Veterinary Sciences just as Isacc has finished his in Psychology. Isacc has already decided to start graduate school as soon as the summer’s over and graduate in five years with Doctoral in Child Psychology. Scott is perfectly non-conforming, saying “I’ll get there when I get there” until Allison decides enough is enough and whacks some sense into him.  In the end, Scott plans to go to school for another three years and intern with Deaton for one after that.

With a comfortable regularity established in their lives, the Pack moves on. Search parties are put off, forgotten, to make way for engagements and movies and exams.

Six years later, one year after graduation, and the Hale house has been completely converted, nothing like the one before the fire and still feeling like Pack and home and family and safe. This home is much larger than the original, with plenty of space for the rapidly expanding pack, and a wide, open, tall layout easily expanded upon. Stiles becomes a fondly remembered figure to the pack, like a guardian angel or the patron saint of the Beacon Hills pack. There are pictures of him lining the hallways, mixed in with ones of the pack, portraits and family photos. The ones who knew him talk about him sometimes when they’re having a puppy pile – a term coined by Stiles and stuck - and sometimes, when they are feeling sentimental or just feel like Batman, after watching _Rise of the Dark Knight_ or _the Avengers_ they eat curly fries and tell stories of an emotionally constipated sourwolf, a strong and silent type, Catwoman, a star crossed couple of a werewolf and hunter, a raging lizard man, a short strawberry blonde, and a boy who ran with the wolves. Sometimes the rest of the pack can hear breathless sobs coming from Scott’s room after those nights.

Three months after the renovation, all of the Pack has moved in, the house fully furnished with plenty of picture windows and extra rooms to spare. No one asks about the room a door away to the right from Derek’s, painted pale blue with bookshelves full of old manuscripts about the supernatural and all the action movies that had come out through the six years and three months.

The search parties die down, sputtering out slowly until one day they notice that less and less time is spent thinking about Stiles, not even a shadow in town and just a shadow in the house, blending perfectly with the shadows of Peter, Laura, and the rest of Derek’s family.

Four more years pass and suddenly it’s been ten years since Stiles disappeared in the woods. His birthday is something of a pack holiday, a day everyone takes off from work and school and just relax, taking a trip down to the local cemetery to place flowers on his mother’s grave in the afternoon.

In short, life moves on even when it may seem like it never will. The pack moves on and grows and loves again. There is still a sharp ache in their rib cages when they see a Jeep or hear a bird-like heartbeat, fluttering wildly, but the hurt comes less and less and they learn to move past it, pick themselves up, and carry on. The new members, the ones who weren't in Beacon when he was there don’t quite understand but can feel the pain of losing Stiles through their pack bond, lesser in potency but there all the same.

~☾☽~

The search parties die down, but there are still some nights spent in the woods searching for a boy who talks too much and bruises too easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the song I listened to while writing this chapter.  
> The Mortal Boy King by the Paper Kites (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oPcEQwEPmVg)


	3. Chapter 3

He thinks they still think about him, sometimes, just in the backs of their heads, were people keep all their old memories in dusty boxes.  
They don’t miss him, of course, but they must notice when there’s a lag in the conversation.


	4. Chapter 4

His family doesn’t like it when he talks about what his old life was like. He didn't realize for the longest time, constantly asking about them or talking about them or talking to them, until one day Bells had to take him aside and explain why Leo kept sniffing and Alex making weird noises in his throat.

(When he thinks about it, he can’t help smiling.)

It’s not like -- not like what they must think. What everyone in Beacon Hills must think. 

He wasn’t kidnapped. Jake says he had always known Stiles would need to leave Beacon Hills eventually. Makes sense, Stiles guesses. As soon as he left there were no more jittery bones, no shaking hands, and no sleepless nights. His ADHD is still there but even it doesn’t feel so disjointed from him, not an illness or disorder, definitely not a nuisance but most definitely a loved quality with his friends and family.

It’s really nice. Really, really nice. He always feels warm, now, and safe. He feels a weird kind of sated, always satisfied, and so content he’s a millimeter away from dying of it. 

Leo finds him basking in the sun from the large picture windows that falls on the floor, hand idly twitching like a cat’s tail, kicks him gently, and makes him strawberry pancakes with cheese, even though she hates mixing foods that are “strictly breakfast” with “strictly lunch”.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes he feels like he's forgetting something but then someone will come along (Jack, Leo, Alex, Bells) and lay their hand over his heart, saying his heartbeat is erratic, tells him to lay down, calm down, whatever it was can be forgotten again.

Stiles' life is very, very nice. He took a job at the local hipster coffee place to bring in some money to the family. The house is a new color - white, now - where it used to be a deep red. (As Bells says, everything is lovely.)

Stiles is horribly content and warm, feels a little weak only rarely. (Then rarely becomes occasionally, occasionally becomes often, and often becomes always.) A little nauseous more often than he used to be. Faints in the living room once and once in the drive. 

This comfort is - is becoming stifling, Stiles thinks on those days. Those are the days he feels like he's seen too much of everyone and is so very, very spent. He stays in bed those days, can hear whispering in the kitchen and sometimes stifled shouts. Everyone looks hungry, for some reason. Where Jake would've clapped him on the back he grips his shoulder instead, too tight. Where Leo smiled warmly she just bares her teeth in something like a promise, where Bells said that he was important there is just silence. Alex used to cuddle with him and chatter with him, the only one really able to keep up with his babble, and now he doesn't do either, just asks for Stiles to pass the salt.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles uncurls his stiff fingers from the gun, and it drops, hot, to the floor, clanging, his fingers itching, the weight of the gun still in his palms.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of his money goes to food and lodgings, now, the rest going into his old ratty wallet, settling nicely between the other bills already there collecting dust and receipts.

_Three Months Before Return (3MBR)_

Like most of this very small world, Stiles watches as a man rages on screen, screaming at the judge, the press, god, his family, his daughter. For all I did, for how much I loved you, I did this for you, is all that Stiles catches from the scrolling subtitles, almost a minute late for each sentence. Stiles stops paying attention together, staring down complatively into his Mr. Pibb. Nine AM is still too early for Stiles to justify a glass of vodka but he can drink as much carbonated food coloring as he damn well wants. Sitting next to his left hand, about four inches away from his ring finger, and this is what he's been reduced to, reduced to obsessively cataloging everything, anything, just to keep away the bad and some of the horrible, which perhaps might not be so bad then if that's what keeps him sane, Stiles realizes, not for the first time, not at all. Sitting next to his left hand, sitting in two cooling rings on the counter, is his black coffee which, Alex, maybe, refills every once in a while, hand brushing his in a comforting manner. Stiles isn't sure why she thinks he needs comforting, looking at her he thinks she can't more than seventeen and already working full time. Tiny pink elephants swing from her earlobes, her cheap black work pants clean except for a few white hairs on the calves, a small stain, barely noticeable, on the back of her right shoulder. Stiles thinks, just for a moment, that she should be in school or getting ready for college instead of earning so little in this dusty Denny's on the side of the highway, and then he looks closer, sees how bright her smile is, sees how she chatters happily with the older customers, and then instead of pitying her he sends her all of his happiness, all of his warmth, and hopes it will be enough, hopes it will keep her happy and young and carefree. He knows, he  _knows_ , he's not stupid, that it won't work, that she'll be old and gray and sad, far before her time, will have seen too much, but he still sends her what he can. Then it is too much, it doesn't matter anymore, does it? All of his warmth his gone, now, his skin cold, gray. Stiles can't bring himself to care anymore about anything, doesn't see the point. He's used to that and it doesn't matter.

-☾-

_Two More Years Until Return (2MYUR)_

John yearns to here Stiles' voice again, his laugh, to here "Dad". There's a deep, deep ache throughout all of his body and it gets worse with everyday his son, his Stiles, is gone and the silence remains, walking through the house like a tangible thing. Whiskey is less and less effective at dulling the pain and he needs more and more of it to fall asleep at night. 

"Sherriff? John, you there?" Derek's voice calls from the hall. John is glad it's not Scott or Isaac this time, hates how their voices have steadily been growing into a harsh tentativeness, a fear that he won’t answer, won’t be able to answer to their calls. He hates how he depends on the pack, oh, yes, they told him, had to after a while, hates how depends on those so young to keep him afloat. John likes Derek and Boyd. Both quiet, not trying to fill the silence or make small talk. They get their job done, feed him, empty out the bottles in his bedroom, cabinets, even though they know it's pointless. They sit next to him, not offering consolation, knowing it won’t make it better, that it will never make the pain go away. He appreciates the others, of course he does, but with Derek and Boyd, he can relax, knowing he doesn't have to fake a smile.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And wow! I haven't worked on this at all oops. Chapters should be getting longer though yay! and more frequent so we'll see. I'm supposed to be writing an essay for class and I'm doing this instead haha.

((3 years after Stiles disappears))

Sometimes Derek jolts awake, gasping, sobbing, trying hard to breathe and this is how he knows Stiles is alive.

Well-not really. Derek _knows_ he's just doing this to himself. Doing this so he doesn't go insane between the times he's comforting the Pack - be it for a scrapped knee, a silence not filled with his voice, or a breakup - and the times he's fighting off "the Baddies", no, no. And the times he's fighting off some "supernatural shi-". And wow. When he can't even describe the stuff they've put up with through the years without using some phrase Stiles would've used, he might need to move on. Of course, he should've realized that bit sooner - like when he was sneaking in the teen's dusty room to launder the dirty shirts and socks and jeans littering the floor like debris from a hurricane or a tornado and when Derek makes that connection between Stiles and a storm, he has to-no. Stop it. Stop it. He's gone. He's dead, he's dead. Stop. Just-stop. (He folds the clothes, tucks them back in their drawers, smoothes them on their hangers, and feels better. Stiles will have something to come home to-something, something that will let him know Derek missed him, thought about him.)

(Stiles will come back. He's loyal, stupidly loyal and stupidly kind. He has to come back.)

Derek knows this isn't healthy. It's not helping his Pack and it's sure as hell not helping his psyche.

So he stops.

* * *

Sometimes Derek jolts awake, gasping, trying hard to forget and not succeeding.

 


End file.
